


Blindness and Self-Destructive Tendencies

by TheViscountConsett



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Arguing, I mean it's not important, M/M, Modern Era, My First Fanfic, but Britain, oh so much angst, set in Britain, this is just angst, well for AO3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-22 23:02:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3746839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheViscountConsett/pseuds/TheViscountConsett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After yet another argument with Enjolras, Grantaire goes to Jehan to lick his wounds but Jehan doesn't have any patience for him and unleashes a torrent of anger at him, revealing some things Grantaire had never thought possible.</p><p>(This is just angst)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blindness and Self-Destructive Tendencies

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, this is my first fic for Les Mis, it will probably become part of a bigger series or a much longer story, as I already have the big confessional scene between E and R written, as this is mostly just angsty yelling from Jehan ~ Edward

 The sun hadn't yet set when he got to Jehan’s flat; it glowed bright orange in the centre of the sky, casting an amber glow onto the tiny attic rooms. Jehan is there, curled up in one of his shabby chairs at a giant painted desk wedged into a window alcove. There’s notebooks and papers and hardbacks littered everywhere and a thousand empty tea cups perched on all surfaces. Grantaire tries not to make too much noise entering, when Jehan’s done working he’ll acknowledge Grantaire, like he always does. For now Grantaire simply creeps towards the sofa, where there’s a small space between glossy picture books on architecture and several poetry collections. He’s holding a bottle of something he doesn’t particularly want to think about but which will definitely numb the pain. When a floorboard creaks however, Jehan’s pen stops its frantic scratching and his head lifts, plait slipping from his shoulder.

This time is different. It’s not like the other times Grantaire has come to Jehan for solace.

Jehan is not putting up with Grantaire’s bullshit. That is obvious, somehow. Jehan just holds himself in a certain way and Grantaire is reminded of startlingly _Enjolras_ Jehan can be. Righteous fury is something he hardly ever releases but when he does it is something to behold.

Jehan has the most deceptive appearance. Beneath the delicate fey exterior lies a backbone of steel and quiet, awe-inspiring resolve Grantaire cannot help but envy.

“Again?” he asked, staring out the window, though his feet are tucked beneath him his back is a smooth upward line and Grantaire knows this is going to be bad. “You did it again.” He sounds frustrated, but like he expected this, like there couldn’t be anything else that happened and Grantaire feels so disappointed in himself again.

“I…what do you mean?” he says, he isn’t convincing. They both know what he did.

“You fought with him.” He turned his head slightly, plait whipping, so his profile was visible “You poked and poked at Enjolras until he snapped and said something astoundingly cruel out of sheer frustration. Then you bought,” he stopped short, seeing the bottle in Grantaire’s hand “dear god I don’t even want to name that, and came here to cry on my shoulder, as you always do.” Grantaire simply looks down, he deserves this, he thinks.

“That’s what happened isn’t it?” Jehan prompts. Grantaire gives a barely discernible nod. Jehan flings himself out of his chair and paper flies everywhere like confetti. He angrily grabs several tea cups in his hands and turns swiftly to stare Grantaire down.

“Well in the name of all that’s holy I wish you would fucking stop!” he yells, stomping off to the kitchen sink “Just why do you do it!” one cup clatters in the sink, “Why do you keep doing it!” another cup clatters water starts running “It’s so frustrating, you’re so frustrating, god why are you so stupid!” a third cup clatters and breaks shards scattering. Grantaire holds the bottle close and begins to berate himself under his breath as Jehan flings the broken cup into the bin. Grantaire dimly remembers that Cosette got Jehan that cup.

“SHUT UP!” Jehan yells, eyes screwed shut, back turned to Grantaire and fists clenched. “Just shut up! Shut up, shut up, **_shut up_**! Let someone else tell you you’re an idiot for once because you obviously don’t listen when you tell yourself that.” Jehan is tense, so very, very tense “God I’m so angry and as much as I’m angry with you I’ll be angrier with myself when I’m done because you don’t deserve this.” He softens just a little “You’re ill and broken and hate yourself and you say all this to yourself enough but God I am so bloody sick of it and you are such a fucking self-destructive idiot!”

“I know,” Grantaire hears himself say “I should stop drinking and get out of his life because it hurts so much but I can’t but he hates me so much and…”

“ _SHUT! UP!_ ” Jehan is never as eloquent when angry, but he can scream to high hell and back again when the occasion calls for it, “He doesn’t hate you! He _loves_ you! He loves you so much and you can’t even begin to see because you put so much effort into making him think you hate him and making him hate you because that’s how you think it should be,” Jehan was wasn’t really looking at him anymore, he was stressfully running his hands through his hair and pacing through his tiny flat “you hate yourself so the man you love must do so too, because you think you couldn’t possibly be worthy of him,” he grabbed Grantaire’s face with both hands and looked straight into his eyes “you are worthy of him, you’re so very worthy, you deserve him utterly and unreservedly but you’re so blind…”

“He…he loves me?” Grantaire stuttered, shaking Jehan’s hands off him and backing away “No! You’re wrong, you’ve got it all confused he can’t possibly…he doesn’t…”

“Why are you like this! Why are you so frustrating! For god’s sake talk to him! Just actually talk to him! Actually properly talk!” Jehan was rubbing his temples, and clenching fists “You’re like this thing that does the rounds on Tumblr, this sort of not poem, ‘You’re in love with him and he’s in love with you and it’s like a goddamn tragedy, because he looks at you and he sees the stars and you look at him and see the sun, and you both think the other one is staring at the ground’.” Grantaire simply stood silent, the bottle laid down and forgotten. “If you just talked to him, if you had one actual conversation, but you refuse and it is so stupid, and you try so hard to destroy your tentative relationship with him, to destroy any relationship you might have with him, because you don’t think you deserve him because you fucked-up dad destroyed yourself pushing and pushing you to be perfect and I can’t deal with it anymore!” he flung his hands up in the air, voice rising, “I’m done! I’m finished! Get out!” Grantaire looked so stunned, tears form and he feels like he has been slapped. “Get the fuck out!” Jehan continues yelling “Cry on Eponine’s shoulder, or Joly and Bossuet’s shoulders or, even bloody Combeferre’s, or just fucking anyone else’s but not mine tonight! Tonight I am done with this shit! Go talk to Enjolras or drink yourself to a heart attack but don’t tell me about how he hates you because he does not in any way, shape or form and if he does it is your own stupid self-destructive fault!” Grantaire stumbled back out of the flat, the bottle gone from his hands.

Jehan slammed the door behind him, leaning back against it and sliding down to his knees, fumbling out his phone.

“Joly…its Jehan, me and Grantaire had a huge fight and he’s left my flat…I know, it just got to me and I was so angry at him for this…can you look for him at his regular haunts and make sure he’s alright…thank you…love you too.” The phone slid from Jehan’s fingers and he buried his face in his hands and sobbed.


End file.
